Envy
by Heather Giesbrecht
Summary: It didn't even have the decency to be envy of Thomas, no, it was envy of Edith. Alan/Thomas. Complete.


**Envy**

Alan shocked himself at the envy that burned in his stomach like the candle that Edith and Thomas held. It didn't even have the decency to be proper envy of Thomas, no, it was envy of Edith. Of the way that she and the Englishman whirled across the floor, that she could be held in those lithely muscled arms. That, even more scandalous than anything else yet this night, when gathered from the promenade Edith could have leaned up to kiss the soft lips.

Why did he even have these womanly impulses ? It didn't make any sense. Mother had always given himself and Eunice a good amount of affection between them. Unless, unless, it were some disease of the brain triggered at random by an accruement of sufficiently handsome visual input. Some queer thing to help Eunice find a healthy husband ? Except that did not make sense either as it had only ever happened with Sir Thomas Sharpe. Sharpe's Disease, then ? Transfixed, he watched Thomas link arms with Lady Lucille before gliding off the floor. It wasn't fair, how could one man be so graceful ?

Mother was unable to hide her impressed tone, "Well, Thomas certainly knows how to waltz."

Eunice fumed under her breath. "He should've been dancing with me ! This is so embarrassing. Alan, you're a man, do something !"

Confused, Alan turned to his little sister. "What am I to do when he has already left the room ? Shout after him and embarrass us further ?"

Mother lifted her chin, "Of course not, but he needs to eat sometime. Now, be a good son and go and wait by the refreshment table to talk to him concerning his...delayed entrance."

Rather ill feeling, he made his way to the table to pick up a plate with which to occupy his time. Canapes, a bit of salad, roasted quail and a piece of peach pie with a glass of red wine being his takings. Irritably, he ate as well forcing himself to co-mingle with the others until he heard an unfamiliar warm laugh. "Sister, I assure you, they do not want to hear about that."

Swift as a breeze Thomas Sharpe suddenly stood beside him, "I heard that you wished to ask something of me, McMichael ?"

Impulsively, he corrected, "Alan, my name is Alan."

A blink of confusion and briefly furrowed brows before the man nodded slightly. "Alan, it is then. That aside, you wished to talk did you not ?"

Al-lan, Alan. It shouldn't have sounded different than anyone else's saying it, but it was that damned accent sending the oddest shivers down his spine. Why did everything have to sound so elegant when it left that mouth ?

He put his plate down, keeping only his glass of wine and sipping from it. "Yes, I was wondering if we might not talk somewhere a bit more private."

Instead of answering him the pale pink lips thinned and dark blue eyes darted between the glasses of red and white wine. Two seconds passed before a faint sound of irritation left Thomas's throat and slim fingers wrapped around the stem of a glass of white wine. "Lead on then, Dr., ah, forgive me...Alan."

There was a delicious sense of illicitness as he wound his way out of the crowded banquet hall and eventually into a corridor through which the others could not overhear. When he turned it was to see the other but two feet away, taking a short sip of wine before the tongue tip slid over that fuller bottom lip. Damned jitters of warmth down his spine as his breath unconsciously deepened, his fingers tightening on his glass's stem. "I was...ahem, I was wondering what exactly made you late earlier."

Sconce light flickered over Thomas's face along with almost, dare he to think it, a trace of disappointment. "Hmm, first I realized that I'd forgotten my ring getting out of the hotel room, thus I had to return for that. So, finally I had my ring and then I bloody well forget where the thing even is. That, of course, is when I saw yourself and Mr. Cushing getting into that automobile. As Mr. Cushing would rather not see me, I decided to wait until you had gone and ask Edith for directions. The servant told me to go away but as I would just get myself further lost I insisted on staying until she came down. Since she was so good as to help me I decided it a far better thank you to invite her along. She was a perfect partner, just like Lucille." Thomas flushed crimson and took a deeper drink of his wine. "Erm, that is, Lucille and I, we've been waltzing together for years, the candle hasn't gone out in so long that I can hardly remember when it did. Yet, the first time Edith danced with me and...it didn't go out. That never happens, Alan, never, not the first time."

It took a second for him to realize that he was not imagining that the distance had closed between them. Suddenly, he didn't care if the whole party were to stampede into the hallway and see it he had to lean forward and catch that glistening bottom lip between his teeth. Hands sank into his hair as Thomas deepened the kiss, someone's glass shattered before he was pushed up against the wall. Soft hands fumbled to open his pants and he groaned, "Thomas." as he thrust into one of those hands.

One of his hands gripped the slim hips while the other was annoyingly full of wineglass instead. A second later he dropped the glass to pull Thomas closer into a series of desperate kisses, strokes and thrusts. Pleasure was frustrating in its closeness when Lucille's voice called, "Thomas ? Thomas, where are you ?"

The baronet hissed soft curses at his sister. They straightened themselves out and moved back to a respectable distance before Thomas called, "Over here, Lucille."

Surreptitiously, he glared at the dark-haired woman who ignored him saying, "There you are, little brother. You know how worried I get when you simply disappear like that."

Glass crunched as Thomas moved to embrace his sister, it seemed almost a moment or two too long. "I know, I'm sorry. Dr. McMichael wanted to know why I was late and so I explained everything. Just when I thought we were done then this enormous moth, truly, it was enormous, it was the size of his face, swooped down at us !"

Even though it hadn't been meant as an insult it made Lucille laugh and he flushed. "Do you mean to say that I have an abnormally large face ?"

"Oh, oh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean that as an insult, in that regard you have a perfectly handsome face. It was just the first comparison that sprang to mind."

Lucille folded her arms across her chest, "No matter how gigantic you both dropped your wineglasses because of a moth...and you two call yourselves men."

Feathers ruffled, Alan responded, "I certainly do not see you in men's clothes, Your Ladyship."

"We agree then because you have bloody awful shoulders."

While he was trying to figure out what exactly that meant Thomas was failing to stifle his laughter. "Your pardon, good doctor, but I think that I should take Lucille back to our hotel. She's had a bit more to drink than she normally does."

"Yes, of course. That reminds me I should catch up with Edith and Mr. Cushing. Will you be coming back, Sir Thomas ?"

"Mhm. If for some reason I do not then perhaps you might catch me up at The Halsford Hotel, say, 10 o'clock in Room 107 ?"

Heart in his throat, he nodded, "I'll be sure to do so."

Just as graceful as before, the Sharpes disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

He was admiring a sculpture when Eunice said, "Now, that is a fine piece of art. Ooh, do you think he's married, Mother ?"

Almost he felt like saying, "Eunice if a dog had enough money and it were not illegal you would marry it." Almost being the operative word. Just to see what rich idiot his sister was flustering herself about he followed his little sister's gaze. For once, he had to agree with his sister's notoriously shallow opinions - the black haired man was indeed handsome. That was likely the only reason Eunice had noticed the man because his clothes were not the newest nor were they incredibly old, but they were certainly threadbare.

Mother leaned in close whispering, "That, dear Eunice, is Sir Thomas Sharpe. For a hundred and eighty-eight years his family has held the title of Baronet."

"Is he married or isn't he, Mother ?"

"Oh, he is quite eligible, darling. He lives with his sister, the Lady Lucille, up in Cumberland."

That poor man was all he could think as Sir Thomas approached and Mother started talking to him.

With a faint groan, Alan opened his eyes weakly as he heard the elevator stopping. Edith was saying something, "Tiny wound, tiny wound ? Thomas, you manful idiot, your sister just stabbed you in the chest."

A mournful, "Yes, and I...and I stabbed her in the heart, Edith, her heart !"

The blur that was Thomas stepped out of the elevator to help the equally blurry Edith down. The blond woman was trying to placate Thomas by saying, "If you hadn't killed her she would have killed all of us. You did the right thing."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I almost envy her not being able to feel anything now." Pained laughter, "S-she always said that she wanted me to be a killer, I-I suppose that she got her wish at last."

When Thomas crouched over him again he saw that, just like his own, the man's blouse was covered in blood. Unlike his own, some of the blood on Thomas's was doubtlessly Lucille's. Unconsciously, he raised a hand to wipe at a dried tear-track while fresh tears flowed over his fingers. One of the pale hands wrapped around his forearm and pulled him up. How they all managed to fit inside the elevator he didn't remember, but it was a very close, very warm ride up. What he did remember was Thomas's gorgeous smile when they left Allerdale Hall to see a crowd of villagers coming down the road.


End file.
